Fireworks
by buffett-head
Summary: A short story based off a fourth of july prompt from a couple years ago. Set after Dean's deal at the end of season 2. It's remained unpublished...until now.
1. During

**A/N:** Another way overdue story I found hiding on my hard drive. It's written off a Fourth of July prompt from a couple years ago.

**Original Prompt:** I can't remember exactly, but the gist was it had to involve fireworks and the aftermath of Dean's deal.

**Setting:** It's AU since I waited so long to post, but it's finished so I can't just let it die quietly on my computer. Set after the end of Season 2 but before Season 3, soon after the night of 'All Hell Breaks Loose.' It's Dean-centric, but other characters, including Jo, are in the story. I won't apologize for liking her, she's freaking awesome.

* * *

**"The fireworks from the rooftops fall  
Down around this whole town.  
And it seems like so long  
Since I've had you beside me here."  
'Fireworks,' The Gin Blossoms**

1. During

The last thing he remembers is the cartoonishly bright explosion. Stars of fire and smoke fly past him in sheets like the meteor shower he saw one summer night at three in the morning. The heat and noise is deafening and disorienting and before he knows it he is weightless. Then the street is rushing up to grab him. A strange thought pops into his mind—_this must've been what Jimmy Page was feeling when he did 'Dazed and Confused.' _He hits the pavement hard and everything goes black. He feels himself bounce once and knows it can't be good, and then the world stops…

* * *

During Sam's first summer Dean begged his parents to get fireworks for the Fourth of July. His mother refused, of course; but his dad immediately latched onto the idea and after a couple small arguments Dean was allowed to buy as many fireworks as twenty bucks could pay for. His dad drove him to the edge of town, to the fireworks stand covered by an old canvas army tent; and they wove up and down the tables twice so that Dean could see all the different types before he made any choices. He went straight past the sparklers and bottle rockets—he'd seen them before and they weren't very cool. Instead, he headed for the artillery shells, the Roman candles, the rockets with names like 'flying saucer' and 'nuclear winter.' Fifty bucks didn't seem to go that far, so he bought as much as he could, and with the bit of change he went back for a few bottle rockets. They might've been small but it would be a lot of fun to shoot them down the street and make the neighbors scream.

When they got home his mom glared at the both of them. "Get those things out back—I don't want them in my house." She told them.

So Dean took them to the back porch and he could hear his dad smile as he talked with his wife. "You want to come out and watch, honey?"

"No thank you," was her short reply.

"Oh, don't be mad," his father said, and Dean turned the corner to see them hugging. "Boys will be boys, after all."

His mother disengaged herself from him, "Then you _boys_ go have your fun." She moved a chair from the kitchen table to the back window. "Sam and I will sit right here and watch."

"Are you sure?" His father asked, and Dean understood the seriousness in the question.

His mother pursed her lips into a half smile. "I'm sure. Sammy's two months old, John. Those things are too loud and bright; never mind the fact that it'll probably scare him to death."

Dean looked over to the jumble of large baby toys in the living room and saw his baby brother rolling on the floor, babbling and drooling.

"Alright," His dad said. "Get ready for a show." He opened the door and Dean stepped out with him.

They launched a few bottle rockets to start things off, and his dad let him use the Zippo to light the fuses. They crackled and sizzled and then exploded with a satisfying _Pop!_ The bigger fireworks were loud and angry and blinding, but he loved it all. The smoke, the fire, the rush of racing out of danger before the fireworks exploded. He watched wide-eyed as the rockets left a trail of sparks and exploded in globes of fire and rainbows of glitter. It felt like only a few minutes before they were ready to shoot the last few off and go back inside.

He found himself shouting "Finale! Finale!" over and over again. "All at once!"

His dad laughed, "Alright. You can do the bottle rockets and I'll do the others."

Dean flicked the wheel on the Zippo and put the flame under the fuses. They all caught and he pulled back quickly. But the little rockets were jumbled and instead of flying up they went every direction. Suddenly he found himself in the middle of a hornet's nest of fire and swatted at them in an attempt to get away. His hand connected with something hot and solid, and he yelped and tripped over his feet. Then things became jumbled and painful: he hit his head on the porch and explosions boomed all around him. He curled into a ball, closed his eyes in fear, and wished everything would just stop.

Then he heard his parents' voices, distant and unintelligible. He tried not to cry but his whole body hurt and he was scared so he doesn't remember if he did or not. They rushed him to the hospital but he couldn't answer any of the doctor's questions because he couldn't hear them and couldn't stop staring at the huge needle that some nurse had in her hands. When she pricked him hard with it he suddenly felt numb and very sleepy…

He woke up with the midmorning sun smiling brightly through the curtains of the hospital room. He saw his mom look up from the baby carrier and smile. "Dean, how do you feel?" Her voice was still low and hard to understand.

Dean could only grunt; his mouth sticky and dry.

His mother immediately stood up. "Have some water." She handed over the cup she had been sipping on.

Dean took a sip and pointed to his head. "Can't hear," he said, and his own voice sounded loud to him. He looked around the bed and saw he was hooked up to an I.V. and had several bandages on his arms and shoulders.

His mom put her hand on his knee. "You're fine, honey." She smiled. "You're fine." He believed her because she was his mother.

It took a while, but he was finally better. He could hear his parents and his little brother, he could smell dinner instead of black powder, and his skin didn't sting every time he showered. Then his house caught fire in the middle of the night.

* * *

When he comes to his head feels like it is being compressed in a vice and his throat is scratchy and dry. He can't see a thing—only dark shadows and vague forms—and is momentarily horrified by the thought that he may be mostly blind. He shivers, and can feel plastic tubing running to his wrist. It feels like he's in a bubble, able to observe but not interact. _What the hell is going on…?_

"Hey there," A woman's voice brings him out of his shell. "You had us going for a while." The room is dark, lit only by a small table lamp that silhouettes the voice's figure against the opaque window curtains, and he realizes it must be night. It's hard to see anything but he just knows it is Jo who is sitting in the chair, waiting for him to wake up. But he and Sam had started this hunt alone. Jo and Ellen were staying with Bobby—strength in numbers. Jo had watched her mother like a hawk after she found out the Roadhouse had burned to the ground. _So why is she here, alone?_ He's a little unnerved by the whole situation.

"Where's Sam?" The question is automatic, instinctive.

"He's in the cafeteria down the hall." His vision is getting better, and he can see her lips turn up slightly. "He thought you'd wake up the one time he would be gone more than five minutes."

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asks gruffly; his mouth is dry and his tongue feels like sandpaper.

"You want a drink of water?" Jo asks.

"Please."

"Here." She takes a few steps towards his bed and hands him the glass she had been holding.

Dean can see a smudge of lip gloss on the rim, but he's so thirsty it doesn't matter at this point. He sips slowly and the water rushes down his throat, cooling the fire.

Her face becomes serious as she sits back down, "Someone's got to watch you." She answers his question. She's still speaking softly, unwilling to disturb the quiet of the room.

He'd been expecting a joke or some tongue-in-cheek remark, but she seems to be in a serious mood tonight. Or contemplative. Or maybe she's just tired. He doesn't know and he's not about to waste what little brainpower he's got working just to figure it out.

"Where are we?" He asks, trying to move his arms. But they just become entangled in the sheets and I.V. tubes. He shuts his eyes hard to try and force the drowsiness away.

She replies brightly, "In a hospital."

_Ah, there's the smart-ass comment._ "Really," he deadpans.

She looks out the window a moment before she answers. "Salina."

"I'm still in Kansas?" He thought for sure they would've left the state after the job was finished.

"Yes, Dorothy—there's no place like home." She smiles sadly at that, even though it's really not funny.

"Sort of like a reverse _Wizard of Oz_, huh?" He mutters darkly.

"What?" She's serious again; catches his eyes with hers and won't look away.

Her look causes him to stutter as he tries to explain, "I just mean, I don't know. Dorothy can't get back to Kansas, and I can't seem to get away."

She shakes her head, and he can see she's trying hard to understand him—which he thinks is stupid because he's just babbling—someone must've given him some painkillers. "I don't get it." She says. "What does _that mean_?"

"Nothing." He shuts her down. "I just hate this friggin' state."

She watches him and he can't help but feel exposed, under interrogation. "I know it's hard to be here again." She tells him.

"What the hell do you mean 'again'?" He's confused and can feel his temper slipping away.

"Not _here_," Jo shakes her head and her hair swirls around her, reflecting the dim light like a sparkler. "I mean here in Kansas," She clarifies. "This is where it all started for you. The Demon, losing your mom—"

It's a point Dean hasn't thought of in years. "That's enough!" He cuts her off sharply, and she looks down at her feet in embarrassment "Stop trying to play connect-the-dots with my life." He takes a deep breath and forces it out loudly before changing the subject. "I shouldn't be here."

The comment catches her attention immediately. "What?"

"I shouldn't be in Kansas." He growls. "I'm wanted for murder—John Walsh is foaming at the mouth to lock me up. The first place they'll look is Kansas."

"Because of what happened when you were a kid?"

"No!" He pauses a moment. "Well, yeah. They think they know me." Dean says derisively. "The FBI guy tracking me—he's got files. I was just another vigilante 'til I pissed him off. Now he wants to take me down hard. He's got a task force trying to find me and Sam." She's quiet, lost in thought, and he realizes that she doesn't know half of what is going on. None of this makes sense to her because he's kept her in the dark about nearly everything in his life. The silence makes him uncomfortable and he stares at the curtains to avoid dwelling on it. They move ever so slightly, swaying back and forth with the air that flows out of the vent on the ceiling.

Finally, Jo speaks. "We checked you in under the pseudonym David Bryan."

Dean scoffs at that.

Jo smiles a little, "Sam said you'd like that alias."

"That's Sammy—he's just got to have his fun." Dean says dryly.

"Is that some sort of brotherly joke?" Jo asks.

"No," Dean says. "In fact, it's not really that funny. When Sam was—" Dean stops. His eyes flicker between her and the window until the words come to him and then he starts again. "When I was trying to find him, he had checked into a motel under the name of Richard Sambora, so I gave him crap about being a Bon Jovi fan. I guess he figures it's time for a little payback."

Jo glances at the door and is quiet a moment before she speaks. "I know there's something going on."

"No there's not, Jo." Dean chuckles bitterly as he answers her.

"Yes there is." Jo tells him. "Mom told me you killed The Demon. But something else happened and no one is talking about it."

"Nothing else happened." Dean says in a tired voice.

"Oh, stop lying to me! I can tell." Jo suddenly lashes out, fed up with his untruths. "_You_ did something, and whatever it was must've been huge because now it's the giant pink elephant in the middle of the room." She stabs her finger at him to emphasize her point. "I saw the books in the Impala; and Sam is always on his computer doing research but he never tells me what it's for."

"Maybe he's just looking at porn."

"Dean—"

"Just drop it, Jo." Dean commands in a dodgy voice. "Sam's alive, your mom's alive, we got the Demon. Everything is fan-friggin'-tastic."

Her forehead crinkles and she quickly draws in a breath, but before she can say anything Sam comes through the door holding a brown paper bag and a bottle of soda.

"Dean?" He questions in an unbelieving voice.

Dean turns away from Jo and looks at his brother. "Yeah." He says calmly.

"Gah—wha—are you okay?" Sam drops the food and drink on the second chair in the room and stands at the edge of the bed, eyes glancing at the electronic monitors Dean is hooked up to.

"I'm awesome." Dean tells him sarcastically.

Jo huffs loudly and stands up. "Un-freakin' believable!" She hisses as she storms out the door.

Sam watches the little scene and then turns back to Dean after the door slams shut. "What was that all about?"

"She's just pissed about being left in the dark." Dean says.

Sam picks up his food and drink, and then sits down in the chair. "We should've told her about coming down here." He tells Dean.


	2. Before

**"We used to walk together,  
You've nothing to shaw me now.  
And it seems like so long  
Since I've had you beside me here."  
'Fireworks,' Gin Blossoms**

2. Before

Sam looks like he wants to talk, but Dean can hardly focus so he says, "Eat your lunch, dude. I can barely stay awake."

"But Dean—"

"I'm tired, Sam. Eat your damn food and we can have a heart-to-heart when you're finished." He closes his eyes and disjointed thoughts float around in his head.

* * *

Dean is glad that Sam misunderstands exactly what Jo is upset about. Ever since he made _The Deal_, and then killed the Yellow Eyed Demon on _The Night_, he's been fine. Not one second thought. Never any doubt that he did the right thing. More than willing to face up to the cost. But Sam? Jo was right—he's always researching. And Bobby? He wasn't angry and pissed off at Dean anymore, but he couldn't look Dean in the eye either. Ellen is the wildcard, oscillating between anger and sadness. When she first found out what he did she was furious. She cornered him alone, and he had never been so scared in his life. "Jesus, Dean! What the hell is wrong with you? Do you feel _that_ worthless? You know how much it hurt you when you found out your dad made a deal for you—now you're going make your brother go through the same thing? Or is this just the easy way out?" Her eyes were fire, and she was staring him down even though he was taller.

"Don't you _ever_ accuse me of taking the easy way," Dean answered. "I did what I had to so I could save my brother. I made a promise—I always keep my promises."

"Then call my daughter." Ellen challenged, and he wondered if she knew what happened in Duluth. "And tell her to come to Bobby's."

He did, if for no other reason than to prove that he's as good as his word. Jo was still in Duluth. She cried when he told her about the Roadhouse and Ash, but was relieved to know her mother had survived. She told him she was leaving for Bobby's first thing in the morning.

Dean ended up driving out to escort Jo back to the salvage yard. He wasn't worried about her getting lost—the route was simple—but Ellen phrased it best when she told him to meet her just in case. Dean had done a double take and asked why he couldn't just meet her at the intersection of the dirt road that led up to Bobby's salvage yard. "Because I said so," Ellen told him. He rolled his eyes at that and she gripped his arm as he started to walk away. "Listen, boy." She said in the same voice she had used the first time she called him that. "Do I have to remind you of what got out of those damn gates? The road may not be difficult, but it is long, and there ain't much in the way of help, especially for us. Now you meet up with her, at least halfway."

"Why don't you meet her?" Dean questioned.

"She'll recognize the Impala," was all Ellen said.

Pissed, he had called Jo back and told her he'd be waiting in Jackson, Minnesota—exactly half way between Duluth and Singer Salvage. She didn't ask why, only where they should meet up. "At the airport, just off the highway." He told her.

That's how he found himself parked on the access road to the primitive municipal airport, leaning against the hood of the Impala in the bright sun._ I friggin' hate planes,_ he thinks as he watches a tiny twin-engine aircraft take off. His phone goes off and he answers, "Hello?"

"I'm about five minutes out, I'm driving a grey truck," Jo says.

He looks east down the freeway and can see three or four vehicles on the road. "Yeah, I think I can see you from here."

"Really?"

"You behind a blue car?"

"Actually, yes." Jo sounds surprised.

"Great, I'll be waiting for you."

"Bye." She hangs up.

He waits impatiently, tapping his foot as she slows to a stop and gets out of the truck. "Ready?" he asks.

"You don't want to get some lunch or something?"

"Not that hungry." He answers, even though he skipped breakfast and has only had coffee since he got on the road.

"Since when is Dean Winchester not hungry?" She teases him gently.

He sighs loudly, "Fine, find a place and we can stop. But not for long—it's another four hours to Bobby's and I want to be back before dark."

"It's eleven in the morning, Dean."

He just looks at her a moment before getting into the Impala.

They stop and have a sit down lunch of burgers and fries, but there is no conversation between them. Dean is done eating in about four minutes, and Jo looks up when he comes back from throwing his trash away.

"I thought you weren't hungry?"

"Couldn't let it go to waste."

"Of course not." She eats a French fry.

"You know the rest of the route back to Bobby's?"

She nods her head as she chews.

"Good, I'll follow you then. Something comes up—you need to stop for gas or get turned around—you call me before you pull off the road. Cell reception is spotty in some areas, so if you can't get a signal then tap your brakes three times."

She stops eating a moment and gives him an odd look, then answers. "Sure."

When she finishes eating they leave, and the drive is fast and quiet. Dean takes in more of his surroundings than when he was driving out to meet Jo. Ellen was right…the land is rugged and there's not much out here. It would not be a good place for a pretty petite blonde to be stuck alone.

About an hour outside of Reliance they both stop for gas, and Jo leads until they reach the highway exit. She taps her brakes before she stops on the shoulder and he gets out to see what's wrong.

"I don't know the dirt roads." She apologizes.

Dean scans the horizon. "Alright, stay close. We'll be there in a few minutes." Dean says.

"Don't you think you're being a little overprotective?" She teases.

"No."

"Paranoid, maybe?" She smiles.

"No!" He snaps at her. "While you've been bartending in Duluth I've been battling the apocalypse. And the bad guys are winning." He pulls out his phone as he walks back to the Impala and she can hear him talking to Sam to let him know they're nearly back. When they finally reach the entrance, the afternoon sun is still high and Ellen is standing on the porch.

The women hug and cry; Dean disappears into the junkyard to avoid becoming part of the scene. He doesn't come back until nearly dark, and heads straight for bed instead of sitting with the others. He doesn't want to be around anyone, at least until they stop looking at him like _that_ because of what he did to save Sam.

Jo is the exception—Ellen told her about the devils' gate and the end of the Yellow Eyed Demon, but Jo doesn't know about Dean's deal so conversations are infrequent but comfortable. However, Dean's overheard her asking Ellen more than once: "Mom, what is going on with Dean?"

Silence.

"I know something happened. I've never seen Sam so worried about him. I've never seen _you_ worried about him before." Jo sounds worried, like the night she pulled him from the water.

"You'll have to ask him." Ellen avoids answering.

"He just shuts me out." She sounds frunstrated.

"Honey, he's not going to say anything unless he wants to." Ellen tries to help.

"But he'll _never_ want to!" Jo's voice is hopeless.

"And you expected different?" Ellen asks, a poignant smile on her face.

"But how can we help him if he doesn't tell us what's bothering him?"

"Some men don't want help," Ellen answers.

"Then what am I supposed to do for him?" Jo asks, her voice pitched high with confusion.

"I don't know, baby."

He's glad when Sam finds a case a few days later and he can disappear for a while. They leave quickly and he doesn't say goodbye to her, just tells Bobby they're leaving to look into a case and he would call later that night. Except that night Bobby doesn't pick up, so he calls Jo. "Hello." She answers coldly.

"Hey, Jo…where's Bobby?"

"He's working, I'll let him know you called."

"Th—" But he's cut off as she hangs up.


	3. After

**A/N:** The final chapter. Hopefully it all ties together...

* * *

**"Well I can't help but feel  
A little more than blue.  
Cause the things that matter  
Just don't mean a damn to you."  
'Fireworks,' The Gin Blossoms**

3. After

Sam finishes his lunch and looks at Dean. "I got the thing, after you went down."

"Good," Dean grunts.

"It's going to be a couple days until we can get you out of the hospital."

Dean's eyebrows crunch in confusion. "Why—can't I just sign some release form A.M.A?"

"No," Sam shakes his head and chuckles. "Man, you got messed up—burns, cuts and bruises, a bump on the head—"

"A bump on the head?" Dean questions scornfully. "I'm not four, Sammy."

"You were knocked unconscious, Dean." Sam argues, and Dean realizes how hard this has been on him. "Don't worry though, no one's looking for you."

"You mean they won't be looking for David Bryan." Dean scoffs.

Sam smiles at that. "You're safe. And you need to stay for a couple days. Jo and I are keeping an eye out for any Feds and one of us is always here."

"Yeah, why _is_ she down here anyways?" Dean demands.

"She's back-up."

"For _what_?"

"I don't know…you've been out cold for two days. What if I needed help—"

"Then you should've called Bobby." Dean told him angrily.

"Well, I didn't." Sam stared him down. "So get over it."

The door opens and Jo comes back into the room. "Don't stop talking about me just because I'm back in the room." She tells the two quiet brothers.

"We weren't talking about you." Dean says.

Jo just scowls at him—then she turns to Sam. "I talked to the doctor in the hall. Dean can leave on Thursday morning."

"Good, good." Sam answers, and Dean is annoyed that they're both ignoring him.

"We're going to have to find a way to pay the bill." Jo says.

"Okay then. I'll check and see if Dean has anything in—"

"Hey—I'm right here, guys." Dean interrupts, and they both look at him.

"Sorry," Sam says.

"So, if I can't leave 'till Thursday—what's today?"

"Monday night." Jo tells him. "Late Monday night."

"So what do I do until then?"

"Just do what the doctors and nurses say." Sam tells him.

"Sure," Dean smiles. "I love nurses."

Jo narrows her eyes at him and Dean's smile morphs into a smirk.

* * *

Dean keeps himself out of trouble and is able to check out by midmorning on Thursday. He's got a bagful of prescriptions for the pain and to help ward off infection. As he hobbles through the parking lot he smiles widely. "Dude, I got the good stuff! Percocet…and Valium…and I don't know what the hell eri…era…eri-something-or-other is, but it sounds cool." Jo is parked next to the impala. "Get in the car, you dope-head." She chides as she opens her truck door. "We'll stop for lunch in a few hours?" She asks.

"Sure." Dean answers. He climbs into the passenger seat—Jo and Sam wouldn't let him near the keys once they read the warning labels on the pills he'd been given—and reclines it all the way back. As Sam gets in Dean suddenly sits up again. "Hey, tell Jo we'll follow her."

"Why?"

"'Cause I said so." Dean closes his eyes.

He feels the car rock as Sam gets out, "Jo…we'll follow you."

"Figured that." Dean hears her say.

They make good time and are back to Bobby's by seven that night. Dean finds a solitary corner in the house and barricades himself in it, even though Ellen's made supper and is an excellent cook. A couple hours after dark he slinks to the front door. Everyone is sitting in the living room: Sam on his computer, Bobby with a book, Ellen and Jo sitting together on the couch as they watch the television.

"Where you goin'?" Bobby asks.

"Just need some fresh air."

Bobby pauses a moment before answering, "Alright."

* * *

Dean walks until the lights of the house are dim. He's standing in an open field, junked out cars piled six high on three sides of him and a clear view to the north. In the distance he can see the rugged land rising up and stands of trees. The dry grass is calf high and grows in clumps, and he kicks up dirt with every step. There are a few rusted car bodies scattered across the middle of the field, and he stops next to an old one and lifts himself onto the hood. The stars are brilliant, and the moon is a waning sliver in the western sky. He can pick out the constellations, and recalls the myths his dad had taught him years ago. He hears fast, heavy footsteps behind him and spins around to see who it is. "Jo, what are you—"

"Is it true?" She asks in a raw voice.

"What are—"

"Did you make a deal?" She demands. "Did you make a deal to save Sam?" She's shaking a little as she asks him.

All he can do is nod his head.

"What'd you give up? What was the deal?" She asks, hands crossing over her chest before falling back to her sides.

"A year." Dean can't look her in the eye.

"You gave up a year of your life!" Her face twists in disbelief.

"I have one year left." Dean tells her.

Jo stumbles back from him and her jaw drops. Her voice cracks, "You selfish bastard." Dean's never seen her so hurt, reminiscent of the day she told him to leave the Roadhouse.

"_Excuse_ me?"

"What your dad did for you means nothing now!"

"I'm just setting things right—I should be dead anyway." Dean reminds her callously.

"Don't you get it Dean?" She shouts. "You've forsaken everyone who ever helped you! Sometimes terrible things happen. My dad died, Ash died—but there's nothing that I could've been done so I just have to carry on. I have to fight back. But you've given up your life, and no one will be able to protect Sam after your soul is collected. This deal makes everyone a failure! The Winchester men all go to Hell, war is here, and everything we've worked for is worthless now!"

"I couldn't lose my brother. He's the only family I've got!" How can he explain that his whole life is based on protecting his little brother? Why should his death be any different?

"We're your family too, Dean!" Jo throws an arm in the direction of Bobby's house. "Can't you see that? Mom and Bobby—they're always here for you. I'd never leave you. That's what family is!"

"Well I don't want—"

But he doesn't get another word out. She slaps him as hard as she can, and as she walks off he hears sobs. All he feels is the burning of her anger, and all he can see is fireworks.

* * *

Feedback is appreciated.


End file.
